


Mutualism

by zuzeca



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Double-Ended Dildo, For Megatron Naturally, M/M, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sex, Tentacles, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:03:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuzeca/pseuds/zuzeca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shockwave and Soundwave inadvertently discover the potential for a mutually beneficial relationship between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutualism

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ks_villain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ks_villain/gifts).



> This is set during the latter stages of the war, after Megatron has taken off for parts unknown and references some of Shockwave's backstory in _Exodus_ , namely that he served as a surgeon in the gladiatorial pits. A short piece of porn for ks_villain, who loves TFP Shockwave/Soundwave. My deepest apologies that it took so freaking long and please ignore the terrible, terrible title. Enjoy. <3

Shockwave scanned over the limp body on his operating table, noting the scorched and dented plating. “Should I bother inquiring as to how this occurred?”

Starscream coughed uncomfortably. “A boobytrapped cache of weaponry.”

“It is unlike the Autobots to do such a thing.”

“Is it your job to repair soldiers or to ask questions? When can you have him operational?”

He leveled a look at Starscream, allowing the silence to stretch until the other mech began to fidget. “Three cycles,” he said at last.

“Acceptable,” said Starscream, looking relieved. “I shall leave you to it then?”

He didn’t bother answering. Behind him he heard Starscream mutter something untoward as he exited. He transmitted a locking code to the main doors, no sense in allowing further interruptions, before turning his attention to his patient.

Soundwave’s front was remarkably free of injury, his mask uncracked and his ventral surfaces merely dusted with soot. He’d taken the majority of damage on his back and sides; the flat planes of his shoulder and forearm guards were blackened, the paint bubbling. _He must have brought his arms up to shield himself._ He prodded the locked elbow joints, which held Soundwave’s arms corpse-like across his chest, before applying pressure until the joints released. _Not himself. Someone else._

Laserbeak laid half-crushed, secondary wings crumpled where the pressure from the explosion had driven Soundwave’s fingers hard against them. Shockwave dug beneath the edges of the drone, feeling for the docking mechanisms. With a click and hiss, Laserbeak came free in his hands.

The little drone exploded into motion, shrieking its distress in a piercing binary dialect, wings flapping as it tried to escape his hands. “Control yourself,” he commanded, clicking out a quelling order in drone cant. “I must repair your master.”

Slowly Laserbeak ceased thrashing, its damaged wings twitching and sparking. Shockwave laid it on a nearby table, spreading out the structures to better see the broken components. Despite the drone’s panic, the damage appeared to be minor, only a few key structural elements bent out of place beneath the dented plating. Returning to his operating table, he saw that Soundwave’s blank mask had turned towards him.

The smug, self-important voice of a young gladiator, his designation escaped Shockwave, spoke. “We have got to stop meeting like this.” Blackout barked, “What’s the damage?”

“You require a few part replacements, nothing more. Starscream, as usual, overreacted.”

Blackout growled. “Starscream is a fool.”

Shockwave did not make a habit of commenting on obvious statements. “Do you desire anesthetic?”

Barricade’s harsh, boisterous laughter echoed through the room. “Would you give it to me if I asked nicely?”

Shockwave approached and turned his patient over. Soundwave’s control was admirable, but his energy field still spiked with pain as damaged sensors were jostled. “Open,” Shockwave said.

Soundwave’s dorsal exostructure cracked and unfolded, plates flowering open to reveal a net of charred wiring overlaid on protoform. His cables uncoiled, spilling over the edge of the table, pronged ends flexing. One armor plate stalled, hinge catching and Shockwave helped it along, wrenching free a handful of wires which had fused to its ventral surface. 

Soundwave jerked under his hands, long spindle fingers digging into the table. “Careful, Doc,” gasped Barricade. “Leave something for the undertaker.”

The recording was an ancient one, tinny, a relic from their time in the arena, back when Shockwave had been little more than a glorified butcher, carving up the corpses of the dead to rebuild the living. “Are you growing nostalgic in your dotage, Soundwave?”

Soundwave did not reply, but the glance he shot Shockwave spoke volumes. Shockwave reached for a wire stripper and bent to his task. “Have you heard word of our master?”

“I know my duties,” snarled Barricade, but Soundwave’s energy field flickered with despondency. Shockwave paused, his hand braced against the warmth of Soundwave’s protoform, allowing and acknowledging the shared moment of disquiet for their absent master, before clamping the stripper shut and dragging it down one of the wires. 

Charred coating peeled back, revealing clean metal beneath it and Soundwave’s flight engine roared. “Careful, you fool!” Megatron bellowed.

Shockwave’s body locked up. In all the vorns of their association, Soundwave had never used a recording of Megatron to speak to him, whether from respect or some other reason Shockwave did not know. It was utterly illogical, but his master’s voice, the commanding, consuming thunder of it, pierced Shockwave to the core. A wave of vertigo enveloped him and he felt the disconcerting, long absent sensation of his valve cycling on, the aperture priming itself and beginning to dilate.

When he came back to himself, he found Soundwave half-turned on the operating table, exostructure still open, his blank gaze fixed on Shockwave. His energy field hummed with surprise and no small amount of fascination.

Shockwave mastered his cooling fans. “That…that was an interesting outcome,” he said. He observed Soundwave, taking in the subtle invitations which rippled across his field. Generally Shockwave preferred to alleviate his rare carnal urges himself, but he was also an opportunist. “Perhaps further investigation might be profitable?”

“You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours?” cackled Barricade.

“I believe that can be arranged,” said Shockwave.

 

Shockwave finished Soundwave’s repairs at an unhurried pace. It was imprudent to rush such delicate work, and further, he wanted no hasty tumble in a corner of his lab. He was wise enough to appreciate the slow burn of pleasure, the lingering warmth which could be called upon again and again to quell the needs of body and spark. Shockwave meant to take full advantage of this encounter.

He left Soundwave resting on the operating table, allowing the new welds to set, as he rooted through boxes of spare parts. At last he collected the pieces that he needed and spread them across the central bench. Calling up one of his most ancient records, a half-corrupted blueprint for medical specifications, he displayed it.

Behind him he heard the laugh of a young medic whose designation he had never bothered to learn, a cocky, vain creature obsessed with his appearance. “I must say, I like the way you think.”

Shockwave placidly adjusted Megatron’s medical records on the screen and bent to work.

 

If Shockwave subscribed to such foolishness as notions of propriety, he might have described the apparatus he constructed as obscene. Some would have called its size improbable, but though Shockwave had never had the opportunity to experience the mechanism it was modeled after in the flesh, as it were, he knew its dimensions intimately.

Megatron was anything but a mech of standard proportions.

He indulged himself for a moment, running his claws along the shape of it, allowing his fingers to stretch and encircle the shaft before stroking up over the obtuse angle of the base to touch the mirrored sculpture on the opposite side. Behind him, Soundwave’s flight engines purred.

It wasn’t perfect. It would take more time and energy than Shockwave was willing or able to dedicate to electrify it, to give it the charge which in a living spike would create tiny circuits with the nodes in a valve, a rapid cascade of current which would push a mech into overload. Purely tactile stimulation took longer, required more patience.

But Shockwave was nothing if not patient.

Lifting the device, Shockwave turned to see that Soundwave had rolled over, arranging himself on his back with slow, deliberate movements that indicated recent injury. “Be gentle with me, big boy,” cackled the young medic.

“It continually amazes me that you haven’t yet deleted your sense of humor to gain additional drive space.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Barricade. “Would you prefer ‘treat me rough, sweetspark’?”

“Good to see that your brief affair with Barricade rendered your future acquisition of pick-up lines entirely unnecessary.”

“If it isn’t broken, don’t fix it,” Blackout said.

Shockwave shook his head and mounted the operating table, kneeling between Soundwave’s spread legs. Soundwave braced his newly replaced forearm guards against the table and raised himself on his elbows, gaze fixed on Shockwave’s interface hatch. “Proper preparation would be wise,” rumbled Megatron.

Half-formed charge fired through Shockwave’s valve and his calipers rippled in response. “I presume you have a suggestion?” he managed.

Soundwave’s cables coiled around Shockwave’s legs. “Of course,” Megatron said smugly.

Shockwave shuddered and retracted his interface hatch, shifting his knees apart to give Soundwave room to maneuver. The round tip of a cable pressed against his valve aperture, prongs locking it in place, and then he felt a strange wriggling sensation as dozens of tiny information cables writhed into him, spreading his calipers wide, raising tiny sparks against the nodes of his valve. Lubricant gushed and distantly Shockwave felt a slight pain as his claws dug between the plates of his leg.

“Magnificent,” Megatron purred. And while Shockwave would have typically dismissed the word as flattery and therefore meaningless, something about the tone resonated in his core and for a moment he allowed himself to imagine sharp, admiring hands on the blocky, utilitarian shapes of his frame.

He tapped his free hand against Soundwave’s cable and it withdrew, the slick tendrils teasing the rim of his valve as they slipped free. Below him Soundwave had his other cable buried in his own valve and his energy field undulated against Shockwave’s, tiny prickles of pleasure and arousal. Steadying his hands, Shockwave maneuvered the device down between his own legs and pressed one end inside himself.

Even with Soundwave’s expansion of his calipers it was still a tight fit. Several times Shockwave had to stop and allow his valve aperture to recalibrate before continuing. At last the apparatus bumped against the apex of his valve and he paused, fans a rapid hum.

It was a peculiar sensation. In contrast to a spike, the sensory input from the device inside him was strangely numbed, as his valve nodes tried and failed to make connections, and he had to grip it tightly with his calipers to prevent it from slipping out. But it would serve.

Soundwave pulled his cable free from his valve. Lubricant trickled from the exposed aperture and the air was thick with unreleased charge. “Let’s dance,” growled Megatron.

Lowering himself between Soundwave’s legs, Shockwave nudged the head of the device into the opening. Soundwave was of a smaller frame type and entry required painstaking care. The device jostled against the nodes in Shockwave’s valve as he pushed forward and he had to pause to regain control. 

Soundwave shifted beneath him, energy field pulsing with impatience and irritation. “What are you waiting for?” Megatron demanded. “Do it!”

At the sound of that voice something cracked within him and Shockwave’s hips snapped forward, bringing all his mass to bear, completing the motion with a sort of brutal finality. 

Soundwave went rigid beneath him, sparks crackling across his plating. Shockwave froze, processor already whirling with calculations of damage, but then Soundwave let out a garbled, static sound and arched, fingers clutching at him.

His entry had triggered Soundwave’s overload.

He struggled to rearrange them as Soundwave bucked and writhed, finally pinning the smaller mech in a position that allowed Shockwave to brace himself and ride the body beneath him. Soundwave’s fingers scratched furrows in the surface of the table, raising sparks, but he lay prone, seemingly satisfied with the sensation of Shockwave’s motion transmitted through his own valve.

“Perfection,” growled Megatron and Shockwave’s valve contracted in response. Steadying himself with both arms against the table, he bent low over Soundwave. The change in angle pressed the device against a new subset of nodes, but also threatened to tug it free. He halted, trying to grasp and pull it back inside with the internal mechanisms of his valve, but Soundwave was having none of it. A cable coiled between them, winding around the device, stabilizing it and suddenly Shockwave found himself able to thrust freely. Soundwave’s hands gripped at the shapes of Shockwave’s pelvic armor as he pushed them higher.

Soundwave’s free cable wound around them, tangling with Shockwave’s cartridge belt, drawing him down until they were pressed uncomfortably close. And then through the dense slabs of armor Shockwave felt it, a weak flicker of Soundwave’s spark energy, licking against his spark chamber.

Static crackled across his vision as his body seized in the involuntary convulsion of overload. He collapsed atop Soundwave, the combined sound of their cooling fans a dull roar in his audio sensors, and tried to regain his equilibrium.

“My loyal lieutenant,” said Megatron, his voice a low, contented rasp. Shockwave shivered, a weak aftershock of arousal rippling through his core. As his body began to cool his logic circuits pinged, reminding him of their relative masses and the hazards of remaining in this position. He made to pull back, but Soundwave’s cables tightened, holding him where he was.

He paused in a rare moment of uncertainty. He thought he’d grasped Soundwave’s desire to engage in what might be considered an unconventional tryst, but this was puzzling. Surely Megatron was not the sort of mech to bask in the closeness following overload?

Yet as Soundwave’s cables stroked over Shockwave, feeling out the shapes of his frame, energy field buzzing with satisfaction, Shockwave found himself relaxing, his weight settling, enshrouding Soundwave. Soundwave let out a low, pleased sound and Shockwave was struck with a sudden burst of awareness of his own body, not as weapon or mere housing for his processor, but as something to be appreciated, eroticized. That the mass that sometimes hindered him in combat might be a solid, comforting structure, reminiscent of a frame larger even than his own.

Yes, Shockwave thought, running his claws along the edge of Soundwave’s mask, teasing the seams of his sensor arrays. He might just understand after all.


End file.
